


These Inconvenient Fireworks

by deandratb



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: F/M, briefest possible appearance by bill hobart, i just have so many feelings, why does this even exist? don't ask me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandratb/pseuds/deandratb
Summary: A morgue romance, between the skeptic and the stoic.How often had she thought about him here, not unlike this, while she completed mundane procedures? How often had he lingered here longer than necessary, watching her with those heavy-lidded eyes? How carefully had they avoided even the most innocent of touches…knowing it could lead them to this?





	These Inconvenient Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I needed to write this, but I did. Way too much internal monologue...just enough heat to make it fun.

_Matthew Lawson ruined everything._

She liked her life, just as it was. Everything in order, everything…settled. Many years spent struggling to fit in had taught her that she simply wasn’t capable of doing so, no matter how she tried–so she stopped trying.

Life was easier, once Alice accepted that she would spend it alone.

She had her hobbies, and her work, to keep her occupied. And she had good friends in Lucien and Jean, people she knew she could visit if she got too lonely. That was something she valued, greatly.

If someone had asked, she would have been able to honestly say that she was quite content, just as she was. Maybe her world lacked excitement–maybe she’d dreamed of something slightly different as a girl–but she had never seen the point in wasting energy on regrets.

_Until him._

He was a very attractive man, in a stoic sort of way. She’d always been drawn more to those on the edges of crowds, those who looked as awkward or annoyed by people as she often felt. Matthew was exactly her type. 

Not that it mattered, of course. They had a polite, if distant, working relationship, which was as it should be. Not everyone could be as sweet as Jean Beazley…and heaven knew, very few men were as kind and friendly as Lucien Blake. 

So perhaps she took a slight interest in Superintendent Lawson, above and beyond the paperwork they shared, but there was no harm in it. If her eyes followed him out of a room on occasion, or she had to hide a smile when he drawled insults in that halfhearted way of his, no one was the wiser. She’d kept bigger secrets, after all. 

_But the infuriating man just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he?_

He started talking to her, during morgue consults, about more than the day’s dead body. Asking her about her life, her interests…waiting expectantly for her to return the favor. That gruff manner of his slowly gave way to something more intriguing, something she found impossible to resist.

His friendship.

It turned out that Matthew Lawson was a decent conversationalist, when he felt like it. She would be up to her elbows in an autopsy and answering him in monosyllables, only to realize that twenty minutes had passed and he was watching her with the quirk of a half-smile as she detailed her study of poisons.

Another man would have cut her off, redirecting the conversation to his business or sports…more than one man she’d encountered in her lifetime had simply walked away when they tired of her chatter. But not Matthew, whose patience extended well into her tendency to ramble when nervous or engaged.

_No, he just…listened._

_And smiled._

_And asked new questions._

Eventually, she grew more comfortable in his company, enough that she didn’t always wait for him to say hello first. When she visited him at his desk, bringing paperwork that could have waited for a deputy to retrieve them, he smiled at her with just his eyes–and she realized that slow shift must have been his goal all along. 

She cursed him all the way back to the morgue, for finding her weak spot and making such clever use of it. There was no way for her to un-learn now what a good man he was, or how slyly funny. She couldn’t erase the pictures her mind had taken of him comforting a widow; restlessly running his long fingers across the back of his neck; watching her with solemn eyes that captured her reflection.

If he had moved along a predictable course, followed the steps she recognized as leading to courtship, she might have been able to tuck him away in a tidily labeled box in her head, and politely declined an invitation to dinner or a show.

_Matthew, though, was like no one she had ever known._

Lucien Blake, for example, was a man with an aesthetic appreciation for the world around him. The moments he took out of his day to notice things like her new haircut, and compliment her on it, just came naturally to him. 

And she knew he didn’t mean anything by it–he had been visibly, almost desperately, in love with Jean Beazley for as long as she’d known him. It was sometimes painful to watch, in fact, as she felt a sort of big-sisterly affection for the man. They had a lot in common.

But Matthew…when he met her in the morgue and told her she was looking “very nice today,” Alice had no idea what to make of that. She was in her usual lab coat, her hair wasn’t styled any differently, and he had seen her in that dark blue blouse several times before. There was no reason for him to make a point of flattering her, either–Superintendent Lawson was not the sort to use compliments as currency.

So she thanked him, and continued her work–but she worried over it, turning the moment around in her mind while she should have been asleep, remembering his smile as he said it, the way it crinkled quietly joyful lines around his eyes. He had looked at **her** that way. 

_It was baffling._

They shared tea laced with whiskey at his desk after hours, both of them reluctant to go home to cold, dark rooms. Nothing particularly interesting happened while they sipped, though their silence was companionable. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed the quiet so much.

One night, not long after Lucien and Jean had announced their engagement, Matthew came to ask her a question about that day’s autopsy report. But after she answered him, he didn’t go away. When she finished washing her hands and turned, stepping away from the sink, Matthew was there, so close as to almost be encroaching on her personal space. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sliding past him and taking off her lab coat to hang it up for the night.

“I’m not,” he replied--the rumble of his voice a warning, getting her attention.

“What?” Baffled, she paused, realizing he had followed her to the corner of the morgue.

“I’m not sorry,” Matthew repeated, stepping up, and she found herself standing eye-to-eye with him in the dim light.

“I don’t understand.” Of course, he didn’t always observe societal niceties–a trait they shared–and even at times seemed to enjoy bucking them…but common courtesy was just that, common. 

_Expected._

When you bumped into someone, you apologized. 

“I was too close,” he tried to explain, eyes locked on hers.

The pause that followed felt endless, as she attempted to follow his logic and he just…stared.

“And I’m not sorry,” Matthew finally added, causing her to audibly exhale.

“All right,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him as she stepped back again. If he was in a strange mood, Alice certainly couldn’t do anything about it–and she didn’t understand it one bit. 

Even on her best days, she had little tolerance for evasiveness and vagaries, and truth be told, she was not her at her best lately.

_He wouldn’t get out of her head._

It made her distracted, prone to daydreaming–quite unlike herself. Alice had always focused on her logical abilities; they were safe, a way to establish her place, while she maintained firm and cautious boundaries.

But he had weakened those, just by being himself…just by being there. Always, there. 

Matthew was doing things now that she’d found to be silly affectations in the past: holding the door open in front of her, making a point of remembering how she took her tea; snapping at the young deputy who mistook her for someone’s wife rather than a doctor.

She could open her own door, defend her own honor–drink tea in whatever manner it was given to her. None of his tiny gestures, small acts of kindness, were at all necessary.

_But they were sweet._

_Who knew Matthew Lawson could be sweet?_

Pulling her back out of her thoughts, the confounding man touched her lightly on the arm. “Dr. Harvey? …Alice?”

It gave her the queerest feeling, hearing him say her name that way. It was like hearing it for the first time…or the first time that mattered. Her nerves sparked when he kept his hand there and peered at her, concerned by her silence. 

“Are you all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes, Superintendent, I’m fine, of course.”

_Why was he still touching her?_

“Are you going to explain yourself?” Alice asked pointedly, hoping to reestablish some distance, and control. Maybe a tendency to be prickly had never won her any popularity contests, but it kept her safe. 

_As much as it could._

He frowned. “I’m trying.”

He let go of her arm.

“You don’t exactly make it easy,” he pointed out, without rancor.

“What?”

Matthew scratched at the back of his neck, looking for all the world as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Then he shrugged, as if to say _screw it,_ and met her gaze with his piercingly stubborn one.

“This.”

Alice had been standing at the wall for their halting conversation, next to a tray table, eyes to the morgue door. Without warning–without even blinking–her back was pressed into that wall, Matthew’s body blocking her view out the door.

His mouth was on hers, shocking her system, firm hands heating her skin.

Another woman would have been horrified; pushed him away, straightened her slightly mussed blouse…reported him to a superior. 

Matthew didn’t pick just any woman, though, just as he wasn’t any other man.

All Alice could think was _**yes, God, finally,**_ her wayward thoughts realized in the form of firm muscles and a weak knee, balancing against her while he took without asking.

_Thank God he didn’t ask,_ she thought desperately, as his mouth left hers to find the curve of her neck and linger there. Thank God she didn’t have to worry and wonder and ultimately find a way to avoid the possibility of getting hurt. She liked him, genuinely liked him as a person and a man, and it would have muddled everything up. But this, this she understood.

_This, in its way, was simple._

She gripped his hips, pulling Matthew even harder into her, reveling in feeling warm for the first time in ages. She could bask in the heat he conducted, the way he ran his fingers over her shoulders and down her back, trailing fire. 

Yes, they were in her morgue, her workplace. Yes, he was a coworker, and it was wholly inappropriate. But that only added a frantic energy to their touches, both of them anticipating interruption, discovery at any moment. How often had she thought about him here, not unlike this, while she completed mundane procedures? How often had he lingered here longer than necessary, watching her with those heavy-lidded eyes?

How carefully had they avoided even the most innocent of touches…knowing it could lead them to this?

Matthew was grumbling nonsense into her skin, mouth on her jawline, her earlobe; her fingers entwined with his, gripping ‘til their knuckles turned white. _I can’t believe it, I’ve wanted this, I love the way you taste._

_Please don’t stop,_ Alice thought, over and over, to the rhythm of her racing heart. _Just don’t stop. Never let this end._

His hands bruised, and when she stifled a moan he pulled back to make sure she was okay. She kissed him before he could ask, not wanting words to drag them back down to earth. Not wanting anything to remind her of reality. Not wanting to remember all the reasons why she should have been wary of this.

Matthew wasn’t nearly as conflicted, if his possessive hands were any indication, but her tongue brushing his stopped any intention he had of speaking. His hands threaded through her hair, tugging and changing the angle of their kiss.

Of course, it did have to end. _Silly to hope otherwise._

Alice was so rarely silly. _What was it about him, that had changed so much?_

Clomping footsteps alerted them to Bill Hobart’s approach, and Alice sprung back as though she had been struck by lightning.

The look on her face wasn’t that far off.

“Matthew. Dr. Harvey.” Hobart gave her forms to sign, and asked Matthew a few questions about a vehicle theft that day, before leaving them blessedly alone again. 

Bill hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss, not that he and Alice were close. Still, she would have expected one of Matthew’s men to be more observant.

She didn’t see his smirk on the way out.

“Right,” Matthew said in the quiet, as though she had said something. “Well.”

The forceful, confident man who’d had her in his arms only minutes earlier was back to his usual reserved self. It put her on edge, not sure where they stood. Had he come to his senses? Did he regret it?

_Did it really happen?_

“Well.” Briskly, she smoothed down her hair and gathered her things to head home. Retreat might be the mark of a coward, but it was also a useful survival skill.

And if she was guarding her pride, well…there were worse sins.

One was walking toward her right that moment, a glint in his eye that both soothed and unsettled. 

“Heading out, then?”

“Yes,” she answered, gripping her jacket to steady her nervous hands. “I thought I might.”

“May I walk you home?”

This was not what was supposed to happen, Alice thought with exasperation. Nothing about this–about him–made any sense. 

He saw the thought cross her face, and grinned. “What is it?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve annoyed you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” To admit that he was right would be admitting that he mattered…that how he behaved affected her. Clinging to her dignity was a reflex, even when it wasn’t terribly convincing.

“No, it’s not. I know that look, Dr. Harvey.”

The way he called her “doctor” sounded less like a title now, and more like an endearment; a caress. It made her cheeks flush as she remembered the way he’d kissed a path down her neck, murmuring compliments all the while.

“I just…don’t know what to make of you,” she told him, adding a wave of her hand between them. “Of this.”

“Is that all?” Matthew’s eyes sparkled, and he was inching in her direction again. 

“It’s enough.”

“Well, what do you want to make of it?” He was near enough that she could feel his breath on her face, voice low. “What do you want, Alice?”

What a horrible question that was.

_Everything, because she had been lonely for so long. Nothing, because she was scared. Wanton things, because he made her want to throw propriety out the window. Tender things, because he had such capacity for gentleness._

She couldn’t tell him any of that. She could barely look at him.

Instead, she swallowed hard and lifted her purse, shooting him the briefest of smiles.

“I’d like you to walk me home. Matthew.”

Alice went slowly, to accommodate his injury.

He held her hand the entire way.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from "Stray Italian Greyhound" by Vienna Teng.


End file.
